She Wonders When
by J-J-Sawyer-Phillips
Summary: Set after the events of "Good Form" (3.05). Spoiler Alert! A Captain Swan two-shot. Rating may change.
1. She Wonders When

Rather than gathering firewood, Killian all but runs to the river once Emma passes beyond his sight needing as much distance between him and her as possible. He kneels down, scooping up a lone handful of water to splash on his face, but the sight of his reflection startles him. For all the scars and lines on his skin that are so familiar, he barely recognizes the person staring back at him—this stranger who looks nothing like the infamous and feared Captain Hook, nor like the carefree charmer Killian Jones. This is not the face of a man who is merely flirting to pass the time; it's not the face of a man completely unaffected by the passions and the emotions released in that kiss. Gods! Could you even call whatever that was by such a paltry name as a "kiss"? It was a bloody revelation! A moment of mind-numbing clarity!

The stranger staring back at him is a man who is stunned and in awe, that the first woman in centuries who has had any sort of hold over his heart would think of him as worth saving; that this princess, above him in every possible way, would offer him not only a chance to be a part of "something," but to be a part of her life; that this beautiful creature could know and look upon the darkest recesses of his soul, yet still deign to touch him, to trust him, to kiss him like that!… But there is something lurking there in this man's eyes, something haunted. If he were prey, Killian would scent the stink of fear pouring off his body like sweat. He sees an untamable pain, an agony that has dug deep into this other man's soul and has only grown and festered with the passage of time. This is the face of a man who is terrified because his wildest dreams seem to be coming true with this vibrant, fiery, fierce, courageous woman. And if there's one thing that this man knows for a certainty, it's that dreams can die, can be killed, can be crushed in an instant. For as much as he fears being alone, he's petrified of taking a risk and then losing her.

He shakes the ghosts from his thoughts and banishes his demons to the shadows, splashing his face and running his hand through his hair. He wonders briefly at her choice of chores for him, smirking to himself before determining to obey her commands to both the letter and spirit of the law. But first, a bracing sip from his flask is probably in order, and it didn't escape his notice that Swan was the last to drink from it.

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She wonders when she'll stop being surprised by him when he does exactly what she asks him to. We need to save Henry—_I offer my ship and my services_; go gather firewood or something—_as you wish_. Even in choosing tonight's campsite he had gone above and beyond, picking a spot near a small river (or large stream, depending on how you look at it). He'd shown them all the way to the short, 10-foot waterfall that ended in a bit of a pond before continuing its route toward the ocean, suggesting that anyone so inclined could bathe or at least rinse the worst of the dirt and sweat from their clothes. Emma's never been much of a princess (ha ha) or a girly girl, but just the idea of getting even remotely in the neighborhood of clean sounds ridiculously wonderful. Besides…after the heat from that kiss, she could use a cool-down in more ways than one!

But one thing that definitely didn't surprise her was that Hook had managed to save David's life somehow, because if there's one thing he drilled into them over and over was just how dangerous the island could be. She did find it curious that he seemed so nonchalant about it, so determined to make light of his part in what happened. Almost like he would rather no one ever know that he'd rescued a king as if were an everyday occurrence for him—a hero with a secret to keep. Emma laughs to herself at the visual of Killian Jones changing into a Superman costume in a telephone booth, like the superhero used to in the old cartoons she watched as a kid. He looks genuinely shocked and sheepish when Snow raised a glass to him, so much so that she could have sworn he actually blushed in embarrassment.

It's probably the same expression he had in the split second before she kissed him. After that, well… they'd both been a little too preoccupied. She'd known he was baiting her, just trying to get her typical eye roll and brush off at first. But then he'd tapped his damn lip and worn that precociously innocent, boyish grin! All but begging her to tell him just how adorable he was when he decided to be flirty. She'd known that he was doing it to distract away from the seriousness of her gratitude, making lighter of the rescue than he already had because she knows that selflessness and personal sacrifice are not entirely natural to him. Somehow though, she couldn't stop herself from responding, from rising to the challenge. It was when he shot back about David's life being worth more than simple words though that decided her. Because troubled relationship aside, she doesn't know how she could have handled another loss, another grave, another person leaving her behind—and that ultimately motivated him to save the other man, because he knew that she needs her father.

So, she'd thrown down her own challenge, fully expecting him to make the first move. But she'd failed to account for the fact that, when all is said and done, Hook has never once failed to be a gentleman. There was a certain refreshing honesty about that, his polite consistency; so completely, radically different from every other man she'd ever dealt with before. And he'd just sounded so smug, declaring that she was the one who was going to back down, who was going to break first, that she had to wipe that look off of his face. What she hadn't expected was to be so affected by his kiss, to have wave upon wave of her own desire come crashing down on her all at once. The gentle way his hand sifted through her hair and momentarily cup her head; the fleeting, teasing brush of his tongue before he sucked and nibbled on her lip; that almost imperceptible grunt; the feel of his coat, fisted tightly in her hands so that she didn't fall although she had literally gone weak in the knees there at the end; his breathy speechlessness had all contributed to the fire racing along her skin and the molten heat that settled low.

She doesn't remember ever being so consumed, so turned on by just one kiss before. And it was that threatening burn that had her slamming her walls back in place and running for the hills immediately. She mumbled some cutting response and gotten the hell out of there. But not before she'd seen the look on his face and then heard him use that ridiculous movie line. _As you wish_. What 80's kid _didn't_ watch "The Princess Bride" at least once in the theaters and then over and over again on VHS?!... But then, he hadn't even been in Emma's world long enough to even know what a movie was, much less watch one… Right? She shakes her head in denial—only Hook would accidentally stumble upon the single most romantic line from the cheesiest romantic comedy of her childhood by accident! Truth really is stranger than fiction she supposes.

Emma does notice though, the way he watches her covertly during the impromptu celebration around the campfire. He tries not to be obvious about it, of course, but the fact that she's sitting next to him as usual does give her the best opportunity to observe him. She can always feel it when he's watching her because a sort of chill runs over her body, setting every nerve on high alert in a way that isn't exactly unpleasant. Hell! Who is she kidding? It feels phenomenal, fantastic! For someone who always thought about herself as being invisible to everyone, it's amazing to her that there's now someone who always cares, always gives a damn about every move she makes. Although, it does make her a little jumpy at times too. She's just really not used to any of what she's feeling at the moment, and reliving every second of that kiss really isn't helping her any.

She's finally had enough tossing and turning that she decides maybe getting clean isn't such a bad idea after all. In this humidity, she should be able to wash her clothes, wring them out, and then be okay to put them on in about five minutes or less. Plus, the camper's version of a cold shower couldn't hurt either. Emma leaves Neal's sword under her blankets—still unable to think of it as her own—but takes the dagger she brought back home with her from the Enchanted Forest. Except for when she went to New York with Mr. Gold, she'd taken to wearing it around town, hidden in a sheath in her boot; she figured that having an extra weapon on hand certainly couldn't hurt, and now that she's in Neverland, she's glad she had the forethought to do it. She hears the waterfall at least a full minute before she sees it, even though it's not massive—certainly nothing like some of the falls along the Colorado River, where it snakes through the Arizona desert. Or the Columbia River that acts as the border between Washington state and Oregon…

Emma shakes the morbid, angry thoughts that start to clutter her mind. Now isn't the time to be dwelling on Neal and all the many ways he's managed to hurt her and screw her over, even from beyond the grave it would seem. She actually finds it kind of funny—two times she's been tricked into walking into a cell by a man, but only one of them left her with a key that would let her escape; both are thieves and liars, but only one of them has always been open and honest about himself and his motives. She skids to a halt just as the falls come into view, thoughts flying from her mind, because in all her tossing and turning, she failed to check and see who else might have decided to get clean. Hook stands under the falls in the shallow pool, which—fortunate or unfortunate, she can't really say—comes up past his waist. She sees pale lines of scars crisscrossing his back, almost white against the tanned skin, and wonders how he got them. She notices how much darker his hair looks now that it's wet, blue and silver highlights seeming to flash through the moonlight and water.

"Has anyone ever told you that spying is a terribly nasty habit?"

She does her best not to jump or shudder in revulsion, but there's something viscerally off about this particular demon-spawn version of Peter Pan that Walt Disney never prepared her for. "That's funny coming from you. Nice map by the way; I thought I was supposed to find my son with that thing."

"Oh, you will…whenever I'm good and ready for you to." There was a certain sadistic light in his eyes, so at odds with the rest of his gangly, childlike exterior. But then again, he did remind her of some of the older boys she often encountered at the various orphanages and foster homes. They had been tossed around so often, their trust abused, and their hopes at finding a home and parents dashed to pieces one too many times; and something would break inside of them, some unidentifiable spark died in them… They had lost hope, and so they became vicious, cruel, and occasionally violent with the younger kids.

"So, since you're here, I'm assuming that you've either come to gloat or you want something. What game are we playing tonight?" Emma crosses her arms defensively, leaning back against a tree so that her back is at least semi-guarded.

"Well… I was thinking something along the lines of 'Truth or Dare,' but I have a particular challenge in mind to make thing a bit more interesting. I'm going to tell you a truth, the same truth I shared just a short while earlier with your beloved Captain. At least, a kiss like the one you gave him seems to imply a little reciprocation of feelings…" She keeps her poker face on, but just barely. Her parents clearly have no restraint when it comes to public displays of affection, but for Emma—and she assumes, for Hook also—what happened between them was private. As someone who has been in the foster and the prison system, privacy is not something she likes having violated. If she thought it would do any good, she'd have no problem gutting this cocky little shit!

Not having gotten the reaction he was clearly looking for, Pan's gaze on her becomes darker, more focused. "I told him that despite a detour to the Enchanted Forest, Nealfire, or whatever his name is, is both alive and well. Although, the well part is a bit of a stretch, since I do currently have him drugged and caged."

He grins wickedly because Emma can't stop herself from perking up at this. "He what? How is he—how did he survive?"

"I really haven't a clue. All that matters is that he's here, and now, both you and the good Captain know it. The question you have to ask yourself, Emma, is given your blossoming romance with Hook, will he be man enough to tell you what he knows?"

The boy fades off into the shadows, leaving behind him an air of pollution. She feels corrupted and unclean, a feeling of wrongness that goes deep into her bones. Pan wants them at odds, wants them divided and at each others' throats like they were when they arrived. Hook may not even know, or the pest in tights could have made the whole thing up… The real question is, does she trust Hook to do the right thing? _Well, I suppose now is as good a time to find out as any…_


	2. He Wonders If

Two Days Later

Killian scoops up another handful of sand from the rock ledge, wetting it slightly before scrubbing it against his shirt. One of the many benefits of this particular spot-there's no mud, only sand, which must have come from millennia of rocks and shells being pulverized by the water from the falls. The sand, while certainly not as good as soap, will pretty much clean any cloth, or skin, without mucking it up further. His boots and pants are neatly tucked away on the ledge, just within his reach, but outside of the spray and splash of the water. It's also where he left his dagger, sword, and his hook with its brace. He eyes the weapon he uses for a hand, hating it even more than ever after Pan's dig. Because the demon-spawn is right about one thing—Killian may have redeemed some of his long-neglected honor by saving the Prince and keeping his secret, but Emma Swan deserves the absolute best in life, princess or not. He could never do enough to ever possibly hope to deserve her love. And therein lies his problem: he wants her to love him and yet knows that he could never dream of winning it in another lifetime of trying.

Which is why he had the bloody brilliant idea of telling the truth, and look what it's earned him. Strained silence between himself and Neal, the younger man seeming to take every opportunity to "accidentally" knock into him or curse him under his breath. But it's the lack of Emma that's bothering him the most. Before his declaration, the moments of silence between them were comfortable; now, it seems like she tenses or maybe flinches away when he comes near her. It's maddening, seeing her within reach but having her be untouchable as the moon… Bugger all! He doesn't bloody deserve her and that's that! He tosses the handful of sand away, thoroughly disgusted with the maudlin track his thoughts have sunk into. He immediately thinks of his other failure, of the man who refuses to be called by his own name. Killian knows that he's the one she spoke of on the beanstalk, knows that he's Henry's father, but that for some reason, he abandoned Swan and their child. He grabs a palm sized rock and his shirt from the ledge, dunking both under the water and scrubbing the material angrily.

What bloody well happened to the young boy who was unafraid to defend his dead mother's honor against a pirate captain? He had been concerned about Bae when the inevitable confrontation had happened, naturally, but he had also felt a swelling pride that Milah's son had inherited her fighting spirit. As a child, he had fought for what he wanted and what he believed in; where did that boy disappear to? He finally gives up on the shirt, wringing the extra water out and laying it flat to dry. But that leaves both his hand and his mind unoccupied, prey to memories of that bloody kiss and his foolish confession in the echo caves. The water is cool, yet hardly cold, so it doesn't take his body long to begin reacting to the direction his thoughts are taking. It's as if every single thing in his life is beyond his control at the moment, even himself, and he hates it. And thanks to the brat-king of Neverland, he can't even take a calming swig of rum to clear up his mind and…other parts of his anatomy without feelings of guilt and self-loathing. _Why did I ever fucking agree to come back to this hell?_

"Hook." The sound is faint, but he'd recognize that voice anywhere, especially since it belongs to the person who is the cause of his current state. He looks up and sees her on the bank near the falls, yelling his name from the looks of it so he can show her how to find the path that leads to the ledge behind the falls. Seven hells, just what he needed! Emma Swan sneaking up on him whilst he's both unarmed and under-dressed! He sighs before ducking under, swimming trough the churning water and out into the main body of the pond. Once he surfaces and clears his eyes, he notices that she isn't carrying her sword.

"Please tell me that you didn't walk through the jungle unarmed, love!"

He can practically hear her eyes as the roll at him. "I'm not stupid. Now how do I get back there without getting drenched?"

"There's a bit of a passage way through the rock. Just go round a bit and you'll find it." He watches the jungle as she heads toward the cavern, and then curses himself for not immediately moving to get dressed or asking her to give him a few minutes. Now, he'll either have to ask her to leave for a bit—which he's not a fan of, since it will leave her alone and vulnerable—or do his best to be gentleman whilst she bathes and washes her clothes, and then remain in the water until she's gone. He hears her call for him again, voice distorted and amplified by the stone and water. Which means that if Pan didn't already know where they were presently camped, he certainly would now. He sees her motioning for him to come to her. _So much for being a gentleman!_ He quickly submerges again, obeying her command as always.

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The second she sees him up close, Emma begins to doubt her own plan, or rather her willingness to stick with her plan. She breathes in and out slowly, telling herself repeatedly to stay calm and to go for it. When he resurfaces, flicking water out of his hair and eyes, Emma's actions and thoughts stutter momentarily. "I'm sorry for barging in on you… I should have checked to see if someone was here first. Should I?..."

"And have you trek all the way back through the jungle alone again? Once is tempting fate, Swan; twice is just begging to be snatched. I'll just—go for a swim, shall I?" He swallows convulsively when she lifts her shirt off over her head, revealing a black corset-like garment. Emma actually laughs at him when he swiftly averts his eyes.

"It's just a bra, Hook. I'm sure you've seen plenty of them. Actually, back in my world there are bikinis that show off more than this." He keeps his back to her as she continues stripping down to just her underwear, not even turning around when she splashes into the water noisily.

"I have no bloody clue what you just said, lass, but I never lied about being a gentleman; and a gentleman simply doesn't watch a woman disrobe without her express permission." _Gods! I sound like an uptight, priggish arse!_

She laughs at him again, a sound he gets fonder of every time he hears it. Emma walks around to face him. "I honestly didn't think about it, but I appreciate the courtly gesture. In the world I grew up in, a bikini is one type of swimsuit—an outfit you wear whenever you go to the pool or the beach or go sailing for fun. And a bra—well, I guess a bra is kind of like a corset, but just… you know." _Oh God! I can't believe I'm discussing my underwear with him! I must sound like an idiot!_

But she does notice that even though the water almost comes up to her breasts, he's submerged up to his shoulders. She flicks a glance over at his pile of clothes, noticing the hook and brace for the first time. He's hiding from her. "I… I wanted to ask how you're doing. We haven't gotten a chance to talk since…"

"There's no need to, love. I said what I did because it was the truth, aye, but because I wanted to give you your happy ending. With Neal. You deserve-" He only stops because she's gotten so much closer, close enough to silence him by pressing a finger to his lips.

"I'm not the type of person to give speeches. You know that I'm much more comfortable actually doing something than talking about it. Do you know what my secret was? It was that I was hoping that Pan was just playing another game; when Mary Margaret said that Neal was alive, something inside me started aching. It was so much easier, so much less messy and complicated if he had just stayed dead. I wished that Henry's father were dead, and a part of me felt so horrible for wishing that; because what kind of savior lets the Evil Queen rip out the hearts of Lost Boys and prays that a dead man stays dead?"

Killian stood up, cupping her chin in his palm and then, as if he had suddenly forgotten it, slowly lowering his left arm. "You let Regina do that so that your son wouldn't lose hope, and you should never have to apologize to anyone for that, savior or no. And while I don't know the full story, I do know that the Baelfire I knew would never in a thousand years have abandoned you; he truly is a far different man than I ever expected him to become, but I'm sure he had his reasons."

"He left me because Pinocchio told him to; told him that I was the savior and that I was going to break the curse. He left me, because he knew that someday I would go to Storybrooke and find his father; and he let me go to prison for a theft he committed, just so I wouldn't be able to track him and follow him. He abandoned me when I was pregnant, and even if he didn't know that, he still sent me to jail. And I had to give up Henry because he was born before my prison sentence was over and I had no family or friends to take custody of him." He swears under his breath, momentarily looking away from the bright intensity of the pain in Emma's eyes. But the feel of her hand resting on the skin directly over his heart brings him back to her.

"And after all of that, do you know what his secret was? He says that he's never going to stop fighting for me. When I told my best friend that I had kissed you, she said that Neal would understand. If I had told her a year ago that it was "just a kiss," she would have rolled her eyes at me and called my bluff; but now, it's like she doesn't even know me. And I know she didn't mean to, but I got so angry with her again, when she said that she wanted another baby; because growing up without her, and then spending time in prison for Neal, I always believed that no one could possibly love me." The tears in her eyes and the sobbing out of her last words breaks down the last wall between them as he pulls her close, kissing her hair and holding her as she cries out twenty-nine years worth of loneliness, bitterness, and pain. He curses himself and Snow and Neal for bringing her to this point.

He holds her as she weeps, for herself and for her son no doubt, his hand tangling in her hair as he tries to rub circles in her back with what remains of his mangled left arm. But he freezes when he feels the warmth of her lips caressing his neck; he gently pushes her away from him before his body decides to start making its needs known. "Emma, you shouldn't—you don't know what you're doing right now, love."

She shakes her head, moving her hand to his cheek and brushing her thumb through the stubble along his jaw. "That's just it, Killian; I know exactly what I'm doing. You haven't asked for anything I wasn't willing to give you. Snow and Neal keep pushing me, trying to make me accept something that I don't want. You're the only person who has given me the space I need to finally know what that is; you haven't complained when I've bossed you around, you've supported every decision I've made here… You've been fighting for me all along; apparently, I just needed to see the difference between saying and doing. Killian, I can't promise that things will be easy, and I can't be focused on anything except for rescuing Henry; but then, you already knew that too. Your actions this past week—saving my father, keeping me sane—they speak far louder and clearer than his words ever could. Because at the end of the day, he's only ever given me empty promises. You, Killian Jones, are the man who has given me hope."

This time when she kisses him, there's still passion and fire, a raging heat that threatens to consume them and melt their bones; but there's also a tenderness, an earnest gentleness as if they are handling something new, rare, and infinitely precious to them both. And though the moment ends, a new glowing flame lives where only fear and darkness existed before.


End file.
